I don't remember the exact moment art and I broke up. It was sometime in my mid twenties but I walked around Brooklyn wearing his ring for years. I had this funny notion that if I just kept having an idea- well eventually art would consume me and elate me and tickle me. But it died in me and I never saw him again. Every year my conception of our relationship was extrapolated and diminished down to a newer less high maintenance relationship from last year's failed attempt. I thought the entire time that art was just not giving me what I needed or that he was acting like he really did not want to be in the relationship but the whole time it was just me withholding. Then one day - it occured to me: Art and I were never going to be together. Art was not mine to own. Others had surprisingly amazing open relationships with Art- but not me. I was just too conservative for Art, too much of a perfectionist. I wanted Art to take me over- but it was me who was trying to take over Art. While others relished in Art's beautiful and freeing presence, I cowered...I buckled. I got scared. Art did not care anymore for me than any other beautiful brained person. Art was a hippy, a polyamorous cad with a pention for making people feel self important when they were able to espouse Art's voice. But not Danielle. I do not know Art any more. I know Story. He's a good guy. He can be interesting. He is just there to help me get by. I miss the wild and crazy days when I thought Art and I were an item. It was intoxicating but I lost interest. Now, I just need story- that is until I get strong enough to be in Art's good graces- Until I get comfortable enough to be with Art with everyone else.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Sandy and I- True Love.
I'm going to talk about the part of a crisis that we never talk about: The upside. I know. I know. Too soon. But it's not.
The days before the storm hit I was lying under an anvil of self pity. Its true - I admit it fully. It was a gross misrepresentation of the good things in my life. But for some reason my mental filtration system only saw things in blue. So when my roommate left to be with his girlfriend in Harlem and the rest of the building seemed to have left town...well... the wind started howling inside my apartment way before it did outside.
On monday the winds grew and not knowing what to expect I felt I had to make a break for it before 6 or else I was going to be stuck inside alone for days. Pre-storm- this is where I was at:
I have a bit of Liz Lemmon's fear of dying alone in my Brooklyn apartment. I fear I will be found dead and solitary- limbs broken after falling off a ladder or passed out from smoke inhalation because I forgot to snuff out my "calm thoughts" jasmine lavender candle. The nightmare gets grosser but I'll spare you.
My feelings of dissatisfaction had spread way past the limits of my apartment. Things felt unreal. I've been looking at everything I possessed and have achieved and have found it all lacking in substance or value. I hate to say it but I might be the poster child for "white people issues" or "first world issues."
Seriously: around Sunday night I took a Yoga class with a great friend. She hugged me with vigor and headed off to be with her boyfriend and parents. I then proceeded to act like I was independently wealthy and dined on duck steak and wine with a friend/sister from my neighborhood. My friends have become my family- my lifeline. In some ways I am so grateful that I can always haunt the streets of Brooklyn and come across a close friend in every neighborhood. But my desperate need for them disarms me. Its hard to feel grateful for things that you feel you don't deserve... but need. I had already been out of work for a week and was dwindling my squirrel share of nuts. I hadn't written in a month. I hadn't made any headway in combatting some very debilitating health issue and I was feeling no better about the future. My life has felt like a series of placating events. In many ways I bobble just above the waters of depression and albeit that sounds so sad I feel as if I have become comfortably uncomfortable with my mal-disposition. Depression will always be a part of me. I am good at managing it- a skill that should be on my resume. My veneer is always shiny and functioning. Its only the inside that's rusting.
So at 6pm I made a run for it. and left the 80 dollars of supplies and all the rest of my life locked up. I headed for my friend Jimmy's place a block away. There, Jimmy, myself and two other friends had what we could only describe as 'family night." We ate, got high, drank, watched movies, played games. At around 8pm we joked that Sandy was a sissy and walked outside to see the storm. Really, I had coaxed them to take a walk to my place to double check if I had left the stove on- remember my paranoia about dying alone?- the stove is a key character in that drama. After raiding my fridge and checking everything, we left and as we got to Jimmy's door, a giant tree snapped in half across the street. Shit was getting real.
So we hunkered down and by 2am- it was over. Nothing had really happened in Prospect Heights. If anything Sandy offered me a forced vacation and time to bond with others around me. I had reinforced my non-partner circle. From the backyard of the building the storm felt mythical. It circled around the circumference of the yard but nare lifted a leaf in the circle of trust that was formed by the wind-block provided by the other buildings.
Meanwhile, across the lower bay, my hometown Staten Island was suffering. Power went out. Giant 200 year old oaks were flying into people's houses. Coastal areas were submerged in water. My elderly parents huddled together in their room listening to these trees hit the house I was born in. Their own power went out. My 72 yr old father went out the next AM to find the back of our house was wedded to an oak whose roots were 12 ft in diameter. With little gas, he drove to the hospitals to help and then waited in line for a special doctor's depot of gas. They were fine. They lived - in a third world kinda way, for a week. Others were worse off. No one had gas or power for days. The hospitals were packed. People were mostly injured by flying debris but others were nearly drowned. Other friends from the Island not only spoke of distress but they and all the other ex pats vocalized on Facebook et al their love for their forgotten boro and their desire to help. I remained silent. I volunteered in Park Slope. I rode my bike to Red Hook. I stayed true to "my boro." While those that I loved the most suffered in a place I tried to forgot. My insouciant interest in Staten Island gave me an ill feeling in my stomach. How dare I.
Around me positive things were happening. As Mr Tomine pointed out- issues that were at once intellectual and for debate were now real and perhaps would allow for the person I wanted in the white house to remain in his austere chair, hopefully with more vigor now that the fear of re-election could be omitted. Complacent Gen Xers and Millennials were seeing the horizon above their boutique lattes. Most people were discussing politics now with actual facts and knowledge. Conversations were no longer misguided or irreverent to one side. People were helping each other out and certain points were becoming elucidated quickly:
So back to the Shelter: Demons were met. The shelter was not awful just intense It was filled with mentally unstable senior citizens who were tired, un-showered and disoriented. Remember my Liz Lemmon fears? Yeah those fears for fire crackling inside. With every stinky octogenarian victim I hugged my demons roared. I tried to stay busy. I coordinated the medical volunteers, I flirted with the soldiers, I helped on the food service line. I mingled with all the Park Slope usuals: socially conscious lesbians, overly critical social working single women, metrosexual high maintenance men and Food CO-OPers. I love them all. We are all a dime a dozen easily penned into a caricature and we all count.
Yet, It seemed everybody was not just helping out. They too were seeing this storm through their own lens as well and using it to legitimize, optimize and explore their usual schticks. Leaders were leaders, followers were followers, true do-gooders helped while the real workers who were forced to be there grumbled. Not all - mostly overworked nurses. DMAT workers, MDs, soldiers, janitors, FEMA workers remained smiley and grateful. They the far superior aiders deigned to thank us. Residents were so grateful at the same time. But the truth was not far from their consciousness- this storm had unearthed these victims from an already bleak existence. They had no family members, nor the were-withall and resource to take care of themselves. There were so many who had no idea what happened to them. There were so many singular poor souls walking around with wedding rings. The thought of all their dearly departed made me weep. How were they continuing on? How do you survive a storm when your life was already ravaged of everything that makes it enjoyable??? I cry now just thinking about it. My obscure and meaningless end seemed near to me. I imagined myself in their place the whole night. I needed to do more to distract myself. I needed to do more for others. Selfish intentions indeed but who cares? Someone should benefit from my ongoing existential crisis and there is too much need in this city to live with one's self if you don't.
The truth is- I waste a lot time. The biggest thing this storm gave me was the wake up call. Life can have more grace- I am sure of it. I shouldn't need a storm to send me out to the shelters. I shouldn't need a storm to have family night. And I shouldn't need a storm to lift the tornado of mixed emotions I have about my adolescence in order to see the necessity of having pride and loyalty for your hometown and its brethren. But I did need her. And I think others did as well. I'm not naive enough to think the sunny skies signify its end. Things are going to get more caustic as my city has to logistically figure out how to curatively fix and prepare things instead of palliatively making things run. Others outside of the blue northeast coast will still vote, in my opinion for the wrong person- as my mayer put it:
As the leaves get cleaned, the fallen trees burned, the houses mend and the displaced eventually find their way I think we will all hold on to this crisis induced righteousness. If not for anything else but for the fact that the storms are going to keep coming sooner and more regularly. For me and maybe a lot of others the storm viscously wiped away the fog of solipsism I was taking residency in.
Thanks Sandy,
xoxo DB
"For all it's really horrible effects, I feel like the storm has made real a lot of issues in the election that were hypothetical, that were thrown around as debate topics—global warming; and Is Obama enough of a leader to handle a natural disaster?; and Do we need FEMA? It’s really interesting, and in a way useful, to see a lot of these things become actual issues that are right at hand." Adrian TomineIt is a week today that we all hunkered down where we needed to be and awaited the Hurricane. After a few days of unintended but heartfelt partying, laundry, working from home, bleaching shower curtains, going through Facebook and Twitter friends to pick who you want to see in your newsfeed (true story- heard from multiple friends), writing, and more drinking, WE -the unharmed middle Brooklynites- found ourselves with nothing to do and frankly, a heart full of pity. I would have felt guilty that I was rushing to a 9 hour shelter shift out of boredom but I remembered something I read that the Dalai Lama wrote:
Today's world requires us to realize and develop a sense of universal responsibility and caring. It is obvious that the challenges and issues faced by the global community today require us to cultivate not only the rational mind but also the other faculties of the human spirit; the power of love,compassion and solidarity.Sandy yanked my head out of my ass.
The days before the storm hit I was lying under an anvil of self pity. Its true - I admit it fully. It was a gross misrepresentation of the good things in my life. But for some reason my mental filtration system only saw things in blue. So when my roommate left to be with his girlfriend in Harlem and the rest of the building seemed to have left town...well... the wind started howling inside my apartment way before it did outside.
On monday the winds grew and not knowing what to expect I felt I had to make a break for it before 6 or else I was going to be stuck inside alone for days. Pre-storm- this is where I was at:
I have a bit of Liz Lemmon's fear of dying alone in my Brooklyn apartment. I fear I will be found dead and solitary- limbs broken after falling off a ladder or passed out from smoke inhalation because I forgot to snuff out my "calm thoughts" jasmine lavender candle. The nightmare gets grosser but I'll spare you.
My feelings of dissatisfaction had spread way past the limits of my apartment. Things felt unreal. I've been looking at everything I possessed and have achieved and have found it all lacking in substance or value. I hate to say it but I might be the poster child for "white people issues" or "first world issues."
Seriously: around Sunday night I took a Yoga class with a great friend. She hugged me with vigor and headed off to be with her boyfriend and parents. I then proceeded to act like I was independently wealthy and dined on duck steak and wine with a friend/sister from my neighborhood. My friends have become my family- my lifeline. In some ways I am so grateful that I can always haunt the streets of Brooklyn and come across a close friend in every neighborhood. But my desperate need for them disarms me. Its hard to feel grateful for things that you feel you don't deserve... but need. I had already been out of work for a week and was dwindling my squirrel share of nuts. I hadn't written in a month. I hadn't made any headway in combatting some very debilitating health issue and I was feeling no better about the future. My life has felt like a series of placating events. In many ways I bobble just above the waters of depression and albeit that sounds so sad I feel as if I have become comfortably uncomfortable with my mal-disposition. Depression will always be a part of me. I am good at managing it- a skill that should be on my resume. My veneer is always shiny and functioning. Its only the inside that's rusting.
So at 6pm I made a run for it. and left the 80 dollars of supplies and all the rest of my life locked up. I headed for my friend Jimmy's place a block away. There, Jimmy, myself and two other friends had what we could only describe as 'family night." We ate, got high, drank, watched movies, played games. At around 8pm we joked that Sandy was a sissy and walked outside to see the storm. Really, I had coaxed them to take a walk to my place to double check if I had left the stove on- remember my paranoia about dying alone?- the stove is a key character in that drama. After raiding my fridge and checking everything, we left and as we got to Jimmy's door, a giant tree snapped in half across the street. Shit was getting real.
So we hunkered down and by 2am- it was over. Nothing had really happened in Prospect Heights. If anything Sandy offered me a forced vacation and time to bond with others around me. I had reinforced my non-partner circle. From the backyard of the building the storm felt mythical. It circled around the circumference of the yard but nare lifted a leaf in the circle of trust that was formed by the wind-block provided by the other buildings.
Meanwhile, across the lower bay, my hometown Staten Island was suffering. Power went out. Giant 200 year old oaks were flying into people's houses. Coastal areas were submerged in water. My elderly parents huddled together in their room listening to these trees hit the house I was born in. Their own power went out. My 72 yr old father went out the next AM to find the back of our house was wedded to an oak whose roots were 12 ft in diameter. With little gas, he drove to the hospitals to help and then waited in line for a special doctor's depot of gas. They were fine. They lived - in a third world kinda way, for a week. Others were worse off. No one had gas or power for days. The hospitals were packed. People were mostly injured by flying debris but others were nearly drowned. Other friends from the Island not only spoke of distress but they and all the other ex pats vocalized on Facebook et al their love for their forgotten boro and their desire to help. I remained silent. I volunteered in Park Slope. I rode my bike to Red Hook. I stayed true to "my boro." While those that I loved the most suffered in a place I tried to forgot. My insouciant interest in Staten Island gave me an ill feeling in my stomach. How dare I.
Around me positive things were happening. As Mr Tomine pointed out- issues that were at once intellectual and for debate were now real and perhaps would allow for the person I wanted in the white house to remain in his austere chair, hopefully with more vigor now that the fear of re-election could be omitted. Complacent Gen Xers and Millennials were seeing the horizon above their boutique lattes. Most people were discussing politics now with actual facts and knowledge. Conversations were no longer misguided or irreverent to one side. People were helping each other out and certain points were becoming elucidated quickly:
Maybe we shouldn't be amazed at how people come together during disasters, but question how when "society" functions it keeps us apart.- AnonymousWhy can't we be this present and aware always? How do I lose my self involved filter? Why did I hesitate to reach out to my Island. I'll tell you why. It was born out of a deep seeded embarrassment. A desire to somehow omit its incubation of me. A concern of sounding like a "Staten Island chick." It's bullshit. I'm done with it. I know. I know. Other gains from Sandy? Writing. I made major headway. And I need to - the window of opportunity for my book is small and lofty- that iron must be struck now. But this is not the time to discuss personal projects.
So back to the Shelter: Demons were met. The shelter was not awful just intense It was filled with mentally unstable senior citizens who were tired, un-showered and disoriented. Remember my Liz Lemmon fears? Yeah those fears for fire crackling inside. With every stinky octogenarian victim I hugged my demons roared. I tried to stay busy. I coordinated the medical volunteers, I flirted with the soldiers, I helped on the food service line. I mingled with all the Park Slope usuals: socially conscious lesbians, overly critical social working single women, metrosexual high maintenance men and Food CO-OPers. I love them all. We are all a dime a dozen easily penned into a caricature and we all count.
Yet, It seemed everybody was not just helping out. They too were seeing this storm through their own lens as well and using it to legitimize, optimize and explore their usual schticks. Leaders were leaders, followers were followers, true do-gooders helped while the real workers who were forced to be there grumbled. Not all - mostly overworked nurses. DMAT workers, MDs, soldiers, janitors, FEMA workers remained smiley and grateful. They the far superior aiders deigned to thank us. Residents were so grateful at the same time. But the truth was not far from their consciousness- this storm had unearthed these victims from an already bleak existence. They had no family members, nor the were-withall and resource to take care of themselves. There were so many who had no idea what happened to them. There were so many singular poor souls walking around with wedding rings. The thought of all their dearly departed made me weep. How were they continuing on? How do you survive a storm when your life was already ravaged of everything that makes it enjoyable??? I cry now just thinking about it. My obscure and meaningless end seemed near to me. I imagined myself in their place the whole night. I needed to do more to distract myself. I needed to do more for others. Selfish intentions indeed but who cares? Someone should benefit from my ongoing existential crisis and there is too much need in this city to live with one's self if you don't.
The truth is- I waste a lot time. The biggest thing this storm gave me was the wake up call. Life can have more grace- I am sure of it. I shouldn't need a storm to send me out to the shelters. I shouldn't need a storm to have family night. And I shouldn't need a storm to lift the tornado of mixed emotions I have about my adolescence in order to see the necessity of having pride and loyalty for your hometown and its brethren. But I did need her. And I think others did as well. I'm not naive enough to think the sunny skies signify its end. Things are going to get more caustic as my city has to logistically figure out how to curatively fix and prepare things instead of palliatively making things run. Others outside of the blue northeast coast will still vote, in my opinion for the wrong person- as my mayer put it:
When I step into the voting booth, I think about the world I want to leave my two daughters, and the values that are required to guide us there. The two parties’ nominees for president offer different visions of where they want to lead America.One believes a woman’s right to choose should be protected for future generations; one does not. That difference, given the likelihood of Supreme Court vacancies, weighs heavily on my decision.One recognizes marriage equality as consistent with America’s march of freedom; one does not. I want our president to be on the right side of history.One sees climate change as an urgent problem that threatens our planet; one does not. I want our president to place scientific evidence and risk management above electoral politics.Of course, neither candidate has specified what hard decisions he will make to get our economy back on track while also balancing the budget. But in the end, what matters most isn’t the shape of any particular proposal; it’s the work that must be done to bring members of Congress together to achieve bipartisan solutions.Presidents Bill Clinton and Ronald Reagan both found success while their parties were out of power in Congress -- and President Obama can, too. If he listens to people on both sides of the aisle, and builds the trust of moderates, he can fulfill the hope he inspired four years ago and lead our country toward a better future for my children and yours. And that’s why I will be voting for him. -Michael R BloombergNot everything went well- the haves still almost superseded the have-nots as the marathon almost took generators and police people from the more needy. But eventually - good won out. Good should win out. Forgiveness should win out. Care should win over blame and the good of the many should pull the singular away from its own ego- I hope so.
As the leaves get cleaned, the fallen trees burned, the houses mend and the displaced eventually find their way I think we will all hold on to this crisis induced righteousness. If not for anything else but for the fact that the storms are going to keep coming sooner and more regularly. For me and maybe a lot of others the storm viscously wiped away the fog of solipsism I was taking residency in.
Thanks Sandy,
xoxo DB
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